Dear Tony's Lab Desk, I Hate You
by Agent Frostbite
Summary: After another almost-incident involving Tony's lab desk and Nikki Skylar's foot, she sits down and writes out a note to it. Of course, Nikki being Nikki, she wants to drive the point home. Written from a writing prompt and a dash of inspiration.


'Dear Tony's Lab Desk,

You are the bane of my existence, and I hate you. I hate your location and your construction. Seriously, who builds a desk with legs that extend further than the actual tabletop part of the desk?! I hp'

"Dang it!" Nikki shouted. Steve leaned over a little to glance at her. She had been angrily pounding away on a _typewriter_ of all things. Steve was shocked that there were still typewriters in the 21st century. He thought the computers would've made them obsolete enough that the only place to find one would be in a museum.

However, it was there, Nikki was using it, and she seemed frustrated. "Why is there no backspace on this stupid thing?!" she shouted. Steve walked over and chuckled, which may not have been a good idea, but he did it anyway.

"Because it's physical, not digital," he informed.

"I know! This is so stupid," she growled and restarted.

"What are you doing? 'Dear...Tony's Lab Desk'?! Have you lost your marbles?" Steve asked, completely bewildered.

"Tony, believe it or not, isn't fond of me flipping his desks every time I bump into them more than 4 times. You think the guy would understand that he's got 'em in a bad spot, and that the construction of the desks suck. Instead of flipping his desk, he suggested that I write it a letter," she explained, pressing two fingers to her temple while resting her elbow on the desk.

"Write...a letter...to a desk?" Steve asked slowly, trying to comprehend what she'd said.

"Yep." She sighed again.

"A-and you're gonna do it?"

"Yep."

"Okay...why on a typewriter? Why not print it out?" he inquired, folding his arms over his chest. "Surely that would be easier."

"He said that it would be 'more authentic' this way, and that the time spent 'carefully crafting the note' would help to 'calm me down'. Which it hasn't. Like, at all. Now, I'm frustrated, angry, irritated, and wasting paper and time. Not smart. But he practically dared me to do it, so I have to now," she answered, restarting the note. "And I _will_ do it, if only to spite him."

"O-kay then. You have fun with that," Steve replied, walking off.

* * *

At 10 PM, after two hours of tries and fails, Nikki finally finished her note. She read it to check everything, stood up, and stopped. If she wanted to fix this problem, she needed to make Tony _want_ to fix it.

So with a borderline evil grin on her face, she sat down and typed the note out again.

* * *

Tony stumbled into his lab at 7 in the morning, and came across a paper storm.

Single sheets of paper lay strewn across the desk, taped to the desk, covering everything on the desk. And it was the same note typed out on better than 100 sheets of paper.

'Dear Tony's Lab Desk,

You are the bane of my existence, and I hate you. I hate your location and your construction. Seriously, who builds a desk with legs that extend further than the actual tabletop part of the desk?! I hope you get burned/tossed off the roof/demolished by a monster truck and/or semi truck and/or a sledgehammer. I want you to know that my intense hatred of you is fueled by many stubbed toes, bruised knees, twisted ankles, and sprained wrists. I understand that it may or may not inherently be your fault, and that at least half of the blame lies with that stubborn, idiotic, once self-dubbed 'Supreme Allied Commander', Anthony Edward Stark. That having been said, you could've helped us both by, say, not existing in the first place. I hope you burn in the fiery depths of hell and find new purpose down there as eternal torture for corrupt politicians who are forever forced to walk around and bump into you a hundred times a day. If you and I ever cross paths again, and you cause me to trip and drop what I'm holding/be injured, know there's nothing anyone will be able to do to save you from the aforementioned fate. Have a terrible day.

Sincerely, Nicole E. Skylar'

Tony stared at the page for a moment, rereading the note before checking every other piece of paper. The same note was typed out on each of them. And it wasn't copied off of one original note; they were all typed out, by hand, exactly identical, with no mistakes. "Geez! She really hates this thing. It's a good table, though..."

Tony moved it to the back of the room, and no problems have occurred since.


End file.
